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IN THE LOVE OF NATURE. 



In the Love of cNjiture 



fitr^iai 






" To him "ipho in the Idbe of nature holds 
Copimunion ''fcith her 'bisible forms, she speaks 
A 'various language," 






"By 
Will J, merediih 



SEATTLE 

Metropolitan Printing and Binding Co. 

1900 



1 



96731 



Library of Congress 

Tv^o Copies Received 
DEC 29 1900 

Copyright entry 



ORDER DIVISION 
iAN 5 1901 



OF 






2n4Copj Deiiverftd t« emered according to the act 

OF CONGRESS, IN THE YEAR 1900, 

BY WILL J. MEREDITH, IN THE OFFICE 



THE LIBRARIAN OF CONGRESS 



AT WASHINGTON. 



CONTENTS 

Late Afternoon in May ..... page 1 

Afternoon in Autumn ...... 3 

The Setting Sun ...... 5 

The Nature Call ....... 6 

The Bonfire on The Beach .... 8 

A January Night ...... 10 

Dawn at Fall City ...... 11 

The Coming of the Snow ..... 12 

The Silver Lining .....: 13 

Sunrise on Lake Union ..... 14 

Green Lake ....... 15 

The Settler ........ 16 

To AN Indian Canoe ...... 19 

In the MiiiERs' Cemetery ..... 22 

Lines with an Etching ..... 24 

When Stella Plays ...... 27 

A Winter Morning ...... 29 

Port of the Angels ...... 30 



After Klopstock's Messjas .... 33 

Who is a Poet? 35 

The Poet's Crov/n ...... 36 

To AN Old Lady's Lips ...... 37 

To the Meadow Lark .... . 38 

Sunset ......... 41 

To Seattle ........ 43 

Why Should I Pause to Ansv/er ? .... 47 

To Paul Kruger .,..,. 48 

Per Lacrimas ....... 49 

To Clinton Scollard ..... 50 

To Whittier ........ 51 

To Joaquin Miller ...... 52 

To John B. Tabs, the Poet Priest ... 53 

To Her I Love ....... 54 



FOREWORD. 

I suppose everyone who has ever written anything he 
thought worth preserving has hoped some time to gather his 
work into a permanent volume, pleasing to his friends and 
not unv/orthy of being handed down to those who have a 
natural interest in his good name. 

In fulfilment of such a hope I have been enabled to col- 
lect in this little book some verses, most of which have enjoyed 
a vagrant existence in magazines and other journals here and 
there over the country. In their present form I commend 
them to the continued good will of friends and the indulgence 

of all honest critics. 

W. J. MEREDITH. 

Seattle, Nov. 19, 1900. 



LJiTE JiFTERNOON IN MJiY. 

THE dark, cool shadows of the gulch 
Are lighted here and there by dogwood stars, 
Between the feathery cedar boughs 

The western sunlight thrusts its shining bars. 

The hazel thickets smell of spring, 

Its balmy breath the ceanothus sends 

Abroad through all the dusky woods. 

The graceful fern above the trillium bends. 

The elder's tender blossoms seem 

Too fragile e'en the soft winds to endure. 

Which, wandering through fir needles, sing 

A slumberous song, their fragrance forth to lure. 

The salmon-berry's tinted flower, 

The salal's glossy leaf and dainty bell, 

The pink, wild currant 'gainst the green. 

The vernal spirit's wakening power tell. 



The love-lorn dusky grouse o'erhead 

At intervals to anguished sobs gives way, 

Because his fickle lady love 

No prayer will grant, nor fond comnnand obey. 

Beside his spouse the jaunty quail, 

A woodland courtier, walks with mincing gait; 
The hoodlum blue-jay's raucous jeer 

Abashes not the gallant nor his mate. 

The cool approach of evening 

Subdues all sounds: the shadows grow apace: 
The rhododendron in the dusk 

A deeper blush takes on her lovely face. 

The sleepy twittering of the birds 

That seek a sheltered perch in some dark nook 
Alone the gathering silence breaks, 

Save faint and low the tinkle of the brook. 



^FTERJ'iOON IN JiUTUMM. 

THERE is no motion in the air, 
And far away the hazy hills 
Withdraw into the purple depths 

Of distance: drowsily the rills 
Creep muffled by the fallen leaves; 

The withered fern v/ith russet stains 
The tender green of meadow grass 

Washed pale by early Autumn rains. 

The sunshine's benediction lies 

Abroad, too soon among the leaves 
To be a rare and wished-for guest, 

When drizzling skies and dripping eaves 
And moisture-laden boughs oppress 

The soul out-doors and we retire 
To hearthsides where the treasured sun 

Of past years is released by fire. 



The last hoar dandelion droops, 

The far-flung cobwebs splendid shine, 
Against the gray-green willow glows 

The crimson of the blackberry vine. 
A long stemmed clover blossom nods 

A farewell to the parting bee 
Home bound from nectar laden blooms, 

The prey of his sweet piracy. 

The maples' gold and scarlet flush 

Shows mellow through the softening haze: 
The myriad midges' silver wings 

A moment glisten in the rays 
Of yon slow sinking sun whose light 

Beyond the mountains in the west 
Must soon be quenched, then silently 

The kindly night will come, and rest. 



THE SETTING SUM. 

TT E gazed with soul drowned in remorse 
J. J. For by-gone deeds he dared not tell; 
It glowed a bloody tragedy 

Mid lurid flames of Hell. 

She gazed while tender memories 

Suffused with tears her happy eyes; 

It gleamed a golden glory o'er 
The gates of Paradise. 



THE MATURE CJiLL. 

THE longing stirs within me strong 
To dig and delve in Spring; 
The thought of breast-high waving corn 

Or smell of fresh green grass, 
The odor of rain-sprinkled soil 

Or sodden Autumn leaves, 
Has power to move me so that I 
Am like a creature caged. 

Then comes a restless discontent 

That, though I love my books, 
Still drives me forth o'er fields afar 

Or through the solemn woods, 
Till steeped in nature I return 

My homeward way and seek 
My couch in happy, calm fatigue, — 

That is not like the faint 



And heart-sick weariness that holds 

The city man from sleep, 
But tranquil mind and tired limbs 

That sink to rest as sweet 
As when the satiated babe 

Lets go its mother's breast 
And in her sheltering arms content 

It shuts its eyes in sleep. 



TKE BONFIRE ON THE BEMCH. 

CHEERILY blazed the driftwood fire 
In the hollow of the drifted sand; 
Around it sat, chance-gathered there 

From widely sundered homes a band 

Of jovial spirits met to pass 

An hour in social merriment; 
The encroaching darkness 'round them closed 

It's curtains like an ebon tent. 

The kindly jest, the joyous laugh, 

The ballad and the chorus strong. 

Each other followed merrily, 

And then again the tale and song. 

The pungent odor of the smoke. 

The chilly night wind as it blew, 

But gave to all a keener zest 

And closer still the circle drew. 



The simple cheer, the homely food, 

Rudely prepared and eaten then 
Seemed epicurian luxuries 

Beyond the usual fare of men — 

A banquet board and hearthstone bright 
To those who strangers heretofore 

In broken bread and open heart 

Found friendship on that wreck-strewn shore. 

And old time friends grew dearer still 

As passed the happy hour away 
Beside the roaring seas that stretch 

To far Cipango and Cathay. 



Ji JJiNVJiRY NIGHT. 

THERE came a clear and starry time. 
With southern breezes blowing, 
When through the warm, night-scented air 
Stole sounds of \vater flowing. 

The new year seemed, methought, all things 
With sweet new life pervading; 

To saner joys and nobler faiths 
Humanity persuading. 

The night was m.usic to my soul, 

Sweet calm my spirit bringing, 

As to the heavy heart of Saul 

Came peace with David's singing. 

Then suddenly a minstrel tuned 

His harp and fell to chanting 

A song my long-lost boyhood knew, 
It seemed the one thing wanting 

To take me back to youth again, — 

How swift the years fly o'er us! — 

When far away, 'neath spring time stars 
I heard the frogs' glad chorus. 
10 



DECEMBER DJiWM JiT FJiLL CITY. 

RED roan the thin clouds float o'erhead, 
The keen air stirs the blood like wine, 
Frost-bound the earth on which I tread, 

The morning stars still brightly shine. 

The east is kindling with the dawn 

The tender skies translucent glow, 

Blue-black are mountain shadows drawn 

Where last night gleamed the moonlit snow, 

The dark woods stretch on every hand. 

The road side grass is white with frost. 

The alders in the thickets stand 

Like spectral trees, betrayed and lost. 

Ancf all the while a distant roar 

That all the narrow valley fills 
Seems ever growing more and more — 

Snoqualmie's thunders shake the hills. 

Who could describe the scene and hour? 

"Oh wad some power the giftie gie!" 
Not to increase my vision's power. 

But to express the things I see! 
11 



THE COMING OF THE SNOW. 

THE sombre earth in silence lies, 
A subtle chill pervades the air, 
The burden of the leaden skies 

Is settling doubtful here and there. 

The morning sunshine and the sheen 
On v/hite Olympic peaks at noon, 

The gorgeous sunset yestere'en, 

Are all forgotten now, and soon 

The green of sward and forest pine 

Will fade beneath the fall of snow 

That while we watch is line by line 
Effacing everything we know. 

Effacing ! — Nay, transfiguring ! 

Each scar and blemish of the years, 
Each trace of old Earth's suffering 

Grows faint and dim and disappears. 



12 



THE SILVER LIN IMG. 

TT) UT yesterday the waters lay 
-*--' So still it seemed the lake v/as sleeping; 
Today, as if beneath the sway 

Of demons, crested waves are leaping. 

An hour ago the winds that blow 

Were hushed and not a sound or quiver 
Betrayed the stealthy creeping shade 

That saddens field and wood and river. 

The rustling v/eeds and swaying reeds 

That with the winds and waters wrangled. 

All torn and bent and over borne, 

Are drifting hopelessly entangled. 

The sunny nooks beside the brooks 

Where yesterday the flowers were bloomin; 
Sad fate, are now all desolate 

With sullen shadows o'er them glooming. 

Heart, do not fear, sunshine is near, 

Not long will linger shade or sadness. 

Good cheer will conquer, sigh and tear 

Must soon give way to song and gladness. 
13 



SUNRISE OM LJ^KE. VMIOM. 

THE sweet scents of the silent dawn 
Pervade the dewy atmosphere; 
Faint, bluish-white, a pyramid 

Of glacial ice, looms far Rainier. 

Thin shreds of fog, wreckage of clouds, 
Cling to the borders of the lake, 

Still, oily-smooth its waters lie. 

Not e'en the fish a ripple make. 

A cock crows and the thickets wake 

With twitter of the morning bird. 

The lake's calm bosom still asleep 

By the waking breeze is gently stirred. 

The eastern windows of the town 

Ail dark before begin to blaze, 

The mountain top with creamy light 

Suffused, proclaims the king of days. 

So is our childish ignorance. 

Our credulous, unthinking youth, 

Awakened all and glorified 

By some great sunburst of the Truth. 
14 



GREEJ^ L^IQE. 

NO more the forest giants fling their shade 
Athwart the placid mirror of thy breast, 
No more the timid wild deer comes to drink 
And lie down on thy quiet shores to rest. 

The sunlight and the starlight fall on thee 

Uninterrupted by the leafy screen 
Which anciently kind Nature interposed 

To shield thy limpid waters cool and green. 

The cedar and the fir have passed away, 

Save here and there a sorry trace of those 

Whose lordly forms once towered above thy shores 
Where now the upstart sapling alder grows. 

But where dark thickets grew in days agone 

And brooding ov/ls at noonday dolorous moaned, 

Bloom gardens and the bee-sought clover fields 

And sweet *Sturnella's song is there intoned. 

The tender mists of morning veil thy reeds, 
The sinking sun thy lilies turns to gold, 

Above thy pebbles roll the little waves 

And over thee the blue bends as of old. 



* Sturnella inagna— the meadow-lark. 

15 



THE SETTLER. 

I PASSED the little cedar cot his hand 
Had reared unaided in the forest dim; 
I saw him swing his shining ax aloft 

And heard the neighboring hillside answer him; 
The measured echo of his falling blade 
A pleasant native woodland music made. 

Yes, native as the querulous squirrel's call 

Or bluejay's challenge from the thicket dense, 

Or cheery fluting of the meadow lark 

Above his nest hid near the garden fence; 

And, sweet as any feathered songster's cry, 

I heard the housewife's tender lullaby. 

From many a log heap near the little cot 

The purple smoke rose straight into the air; 

'Twas incense from an altar built to faith 

And tended morn and night with jealous care,— 

An altar where the forest sacrifice 

Consumed itself before the settler's eyes. 



16 



And where is there subhmer faith than his 

Who toils and suffers that approaching age 

May find him sheltered from the pinching frost 
Of want dependent, bitter patronage, — 

Who sweats and strives and slowly, slowly frees 

The soil that he and his may live at ease? 

He lifts sometimes his toil-grimed face to view 
The splendor of the sunset or the dawn, 

The white sublimity of skyward peaks. 

Or veil mysterious o'er the mountain drawn, 

And feels, it may be, longings now and then 

To mingle in the wider world of men. 

But when he views his slowly widening fields. 

His children's home, no more his bosom burns, 

He gratefully gives thanks his arm is strong. 
And with content to toil again returns: 

E'en when he hears the twilight supper horn 

Reluctantly he leaves his work till morn. 



17 



0, will Injustice have her tribute still 

When this bent toiler feeble grows and grey? 
Must he still slave to give her silken sons 

And lily-handed daughters holiday? 
Or shall he see the;Day we've prayed for long 
"^Vhen Brotherhood shall banish v/ant and v/rong? 



18 



TO JiM IMBI^N CJ*NGE. 

THOU slender ark beside the brink 
Of waiting waters idly lying, 
Where languid lilies the sunshine drink 

And loitering waves are softly dying, 
What canst thou teach me, say, what word of strength 
Or wisdom lies in thy three fathoms' length? 

No clumsy builded skiff art thou, 

No short-lived shell of birchbark fragile. 

But staunch and strong from stern to prow 
Life-long thou'lt bear thy master agile 

Safe o'er the boiling rapids, tumbling seas, 

Or placid lake unruffled by the breeze. 

No Arab steed on desert sand. 

With all his master's fond devotion. 

Is more responsive to the hand 

Than thou art to the slightest motion 

As thy bold master dips his glistening oar 

On either side along the reedy shore. 



19 



As lightly as the waterfowl 

The gently heaving wave thou ridest, 
As noiselessly as flight of owl, 

Or otter, from the bank thoii glidest, 
Thou and thy master one, thy ripply wake 
Scarcely discerned a furlong on the lake. 

How many moons stoodst thou a king, 

A noble cedar tree, uprearing 
Thy plumed head o'er everything 

Around thee, naught of evil fearing, 
Until that doleful night when tempests flung 
Thee crashing down the humbler folk among? 

How long the prostrate monarch lay, 

A log, bereft of pride and glory, 
Until thy sculptor passed that way, 

There's none to tell the piteous story; 
But from that prison what joy his must have been 
To free thy graceful form immured therein! 



20 



Ambition reared thy head on high, 

Then swiftly came thy dread disaster; 

Thou scarce couldst brook the o'ershadowing sky. 
Yet now thou servest as thy master 

Him thou hadst scorned but that his hand set free 

Thy nobler self, — and thus thou teachest me. 



21 



IM THE MINERS' CEMETERY. 

ONCE on a lowering afternoon 
When sullen winds blew dismally 
Through autumn-stricken woods, and fast 
The dead leaves fell from every tree, 

I passed a lonely burial ground, 

Rudely enclosed and desolate 

As those fond hearts whose buried dead 
Such grewsome places consecrate. 

In reverently curious mood. 

Seeking to know whose ashes lay 
In that deserted spot, I cleared 

The rubbish from a stone away. 

It was a simple headstone hid 

In bramble-grown obscurity, 

And bore for epitaph one line: 
"A native son of Italy." 



22 



There on that dreary mountain side. 
Forgotten, under leaden skies, 

Far from his sunlit childhood home, 

At last the .■.eary v/anderer lies. 

No doubt his latest thought in life 

Was of that land he loved so well, 

And kindred hearts above his dust 

That stone had reared his thought to tell. 

So, when I die, and under ground 

My battered, earth-worn body lies, 

May some kind friends remember me: 
"A native of Beyond the Skies." 



23 



LINES WITH MM ETCHING. 

AS only He who made the rose 
- Could paint that flower's hue, 
And only He who made the sky 

Could give its wondrous blue, 
So all that man has thought and done. 

And all that he can do, 
Fails of the splendor of the sun, 
The blossom's beauty too. 

The etching then weak man designed 

The landscape's charm to express, 
And image to his brother's mind 

Its varied loveliness, — 
Devoid of color, to be sure, 

With only light and shade 
All form and color to secure, — 

The charm so swift to fade. 



24 



Yet still it seems more reverent 

Than all the gaudy paint 
With which barbaric man attempts 

To imitate the faint 
And evanescent charms that cling — 

The subtle tint and shade — 
To e'en the simplest little thing 

The Father's hand has made. 

Dear friends, this simple homelike scene, 

This cottage by the sea, 
Has golden sunlight, herbage green, 

Blue sky and breezes free; 
And though the reverent artist's hand 

Has not assayed to show 
The color-glories of the land 

And sea, they're there we know. 



25 



So may your lives, without pretence 

Or vain and idle show, 
Give to congenial friends a sense 

Of inward golden glow, — 
Of beauties that no mortal eyes 

May ever hope to see — 
To help us all to realize 

What Heaven is to be. 



26 



IV HEM STELLA PL^YS. 

HER fingers touch the instrument, 
But ere a sound you hear 
A hundred sprightly minstrel elves 
In quaintest garb appear. 

Rich, silken robes and nodding plumes 
Each minstrel brave adorn; 

Each bears a pipe, a silver drum, 
Or mellow throated horn. 

To right and left they file and pause 

Awaiting her behest, 
And eagerly they strive each one 

To please and serve her best. 

Two sturdy drum.mers from the left 
Step blithely forth and stand, 

While from the right three pipers gay 
Advance at her command. 



27 



Each sounds a single note and then 

Awaits impatiently 
While others take his place and join 

The elfin nnelody. 

Now faster beat the kettle drums 

And high the pipes and shrill, 

Then slowly, softly breathe the horns 
And all the rest are still. 

Now sweet and clear the pipes again 
And soft the drummers play, 

Then one by one and silently 
The minstrels file away. 



28 



Ji IVIMTER MORNIMG. 

THE thin film of ice on the marshland 
Shows the drowned green things below, 
And the reeds and grasses above it 

Are bending with frost as with snow. 

The shag-coated horses are browsing 
Half-hearted there under the hill, 

And the cattle among the bare willows 
Stand shrunken, dejected and still. 

All silent and dark flows the river, 

Flows swiftly with never a wave. 

As from caverns of fog it emerges 
To be lost in a vapory cave. 

The fog-laden air of the morning 

Is chill as a sepulchre's breath, 

And seems to close narrowing 'round us 

Like the walls of the chamber of death. 

But lo! through the murk that engulfs us 

Faint glimmerings of yellow light strain, 

And soon all the glory of sunshine 

Will flood earth and heaven again. 
29 



PORT OF THE ^MGELS. 
1592. 

FROM out the vast Pacific, where 
The endless billows roll, 
The storm-chased Spanish carvel fled 

As from a fiend's control, 
With broken mast and tattered sail 
And terror in each soul. 

The holy saints to every prayer 

Were deaf, the stranger sea 
Where never ship had sailed before 

All lifeless seemed to be, 
And all around the ghostly mists 

Kept shifting eerily. 

Rain-drenched, wave-washed, the life boats stove. 

The bulwarks crushed and gone, 
The hull aleak, 'neath hidden skies 

They floundered on and on 
Till hope was dead and dull dispair 

O'erspread each visage wan. 



30 



Past frowning capes and foam-veiled rocks 
Toward certain wreck they swept; 

Fear-maddened by the awful dread 
The seamen cursed and wept; 

And ever at each elbow, Death 
His changeless station kept. 

Then straight ahead a snowy line 

Of breakers barred the way, 
And straight ahead the vessel drove 

To where Destruction lay 
In wait to seize each shrinking soul 

How e'er he shriek and pray. 

But ere the staggering bark could strike 

She felt a current strong 
That seized her keel resistlessly 

And hurried her along 
Into a port, safe as a lake, 

That hides the hills among. 



31 



"A miracle!" the astonished crew 

In grateful wonder cry; 
"The holy angels to our aid!" 

And turned is every eye 
Where sunshine gilds the snowy peaks- 

A stairway from the sky. 



Note. — In the Strait of Juan de Fuca. said to have been discovered 
in 1592, two leagues of sandspit shelter the magnificent harbor of Pt. 
Angeles, overlooked by Mt. Angeles, a snow-covered summit often 
bathed in sunshine when all around is wrapped in obscuring mist. 



32 



^FTER KLOPSTOCK'>^ MESSI^S. 

METHOUGHT two mighty hosts innumerable 
Upon the wasted marches of a realm 
War-scourged and ruined fought, and as the din 
And clamor died away there rose a cloud 
Of parting spirits from the corse-strewn field. 
High in the heavens the Awful One reviewed 
The ghostly throng and meted judgment out. 
A peal of thunder, and the captains' souls 
To endless punishment were hurled, and when 
The hollow rumbling ceased, from Hell arose 
Wild shrieks and cursings and the whistling sound 
Of scourges as the soldier-spirits fell 
Upon their former lords in chastisement, — 
Wailings and hopeless groans and utter night. 



33 



And then, methought, seraphic sound of harps 

And melody of birdsongs from the earth 

Stole on mine ear, and through the sunlight flew 

A joyous troup of infant spirits freed 

From flesh and tyranny of low desires. 

The Holy One with face benignant smiled 

And judged them not but blessed the radiant band 

As past His throne they swept to shine and sing 

For ever more among the morning stars. 



34 



IV HO IS Ji POET? 

HAVE you an ear 
So delicate and fine 

That you can hear 

The breezeless v/hisper of the pine? 

Is there for you 

In song of nneadow-lark one note, 

Heard by the Few, 

Rich, sweet and reedy when his throat 
In morning hymn 

Swells with seraphic bliss? Do sky 

And forest dim 

And moss-grown rocks enthrall your eye? 

And does the sight 

Of bursting buds and clinging clouds 

On mountain height — 

Do crag-born tempests shrieking loud, 

Or Springtime's breath, 

Or white-capped waves a pleasure bring 
As keen as death 

So you could weep for joy or sing? 
Do wrongs and scorn 

Of other hearts oppress your own? 
Bard were you born 

And from your brov/ the poet's crov/n 

Can ne'er be torn. 

35 



THE POET'S CROWM. 

THE poet's crown is laurel, aye, and thorn; 
The laurel is for fame, the artist's meed, 

The tribute paid by happy men who read 
And listen for the joy of it, whom scorn 
And cruel wrong and want and hope deferred 

Have never left their branded scars upon; 

Beneath the coronet of laurel won 
From willing hands and hearts by pleasure stirred, 
There is a hidden, thorny wreath that he 

Who has the gift of song, the seeing eye, 

Has fashioned for himself and till he die 
Still must he wear it; he can never free 
His lacerated temples from that crown 

Till every wronged and suffering son of man, 

Till every victim of the oppressor's ban. 
Has been avenged, has thrown his burden down. 



36 



TO JiM OLn LJiDY'S LIPS. 

OH wrinkled lips grown cold and colorless, 
I wonder much 
If you recall in years agone 
The tender touch 
Of parent fond or dear departing friend, — 
If memory 

Bring back the long, sweet kiss of early love. 
The ecstacy 

Of bliss consummate when the brimming tide 
Of Youth's deep sea 

Rose to it's full and overflowed you quite. 

The honey bee 
Ne'er robbed a sweeter blossom in the field 

Than ye were then; 

No lure, I wist, more strongly moved than ye 
The sons of men. 

So withered, pale and pitiful today. 
It cannot be 

That ye remember aught of those old days 
Of witchery 

When Life's rich flood of crimson flowed amain 
From breast to brow. 

Ah me! ye only move in holy prayers 
And blessings now. 
37 



TO THE MEJiDOW LJiRK- 

SWEET voice of pleasant meadow lands, 
Of clover fields and sunny days, 
To thee, campestral laureate, 
rd sing a song of praise. 

I think no lay of nightengale 

In moonlit bowers of'roses hidden, 

No springtime call of cuckoo-bird. 
Could match thy song unbidden. 

I have not heard the rhapsody 

Of southern mockingbird, ncr yet * 

The pgean of the bobolink, 

The linnet's canzonet, 



38 



But I have heard the hedgerow thrush 
Above his nest in spring, elate, 

And blackbirds in the reedy marsh 
Their bird-joys celebrate. 

And many another; but not one 

I've listened to could e'er express 

For me so well as thou hast dons 
A heart-filled happiness. 

No pining for forbidden joys, 

No envious carping, jealousy. 

Or vain regret makes harsh thy song. 
Thy joyous melody. 



39 



"Sweet, sweet, oh life is sweet, is sweet!" 
You carol morn and night and noon. 

" The day is long with happiness, 
The dark night passes soon; 

" The world is full of purest bliss, 

The meadow grass is fresh with dew, 

Oh life is sweet, is sweet, is sweet, 
The sky above is blue; 

" No clouds, nor rain, nor March winds chill. 
No autumn frost nor summer heat 

Can long endure; the sun shines bright. 
And life is sweet, is sweet!" 



40 



SUM SET. 

SWEETHEART, tonight I saw the sun 
Through amethystine vapors set; 
The full tide lapped the yellow sand 
Insistent as a vain regret. 

Above the stranded driftwood rose 
The fir-embattled hillsides green: 

A filmy magic curtain seemed 

The neighboring island shores to screen. 

The steady landbreeze, fragrance fraught, 
From out the forest sought the sea, 

And seemed on silent wings to bear 
All care and sorrow far from me, 

Against the flaming sunset sky 

The Olympics' serried summits lay, 

A jagged purple sword edge huge, 

Broken and notched in desperate fray. 



41 



The little yellow beach flowers closed, 

All things grew dusk and passed from sight 

As paled the roseate clouds o'erhead 
Before the miracle of night. 

The beauty of that perfect hour 

O'erflov/ed my soul; I thought of thee: 

Nothing I lacked, sweetheart, but thy 
Hand touch of silent sympathy. 



42 



TO SEATTLE. 

AS Tyre and Sidon long ago their navies sent afar 
- To conquer and to colonize and hold in peace and war 
The margin of the Mid-World Sea; as Carthage ruled the 

wave; 
As Athens sent her Wooden Walls from Persia's power to 

save 
Her people and their liberties; as Rome in later time, 
And Venice, sent their merchantmen to trade in every clime, 
So thou, Queen City of the West, that sittest by the sea. 
Send out thy fleets and bind the world in tribute unto thee. 

As Thebes, Memphis, Nineveh, the ancient nations taught; 

As Athens, Rome, Byzantium, the kindling spirit caught; 

As Egypt's Alexandria the rendezvous became 

Of students and of learned men, of all who bore the name 

Of seekers after truth, so thou thy University, 

Thy schools and colleges upbuild, city by the sea, 

Till of the western continent the center thou shalt be, — 

Thy fame reach all Truth's followers and draw them unto thee. 



43 



Oh Naples, for her lovely bay, no lovelier than thine, 
Geneva, for her mountain view, and is not yours as fine? 
Her lake, and thou hast also lakes, are famous: Erin's isle 
Is noted for its verdant hills; thy hills with verdure smile. 
And when the sun in springtime shines, the blue Italian skies, 
Are not more softly blue than those that greet thy children's 

eyes. 
So, with thy commerce, golden mines, thy schools, thy 

scenery, 
Grow rich, grow wise, grow great, until all earth shall honor 

thee. 



44 



SONNETS 



WHY SHOULD I PJtUSE TO JiNSlVEH? 

WHY should I pause to answer, if a fev/ 
Small men in envy or in malice try 
To minimize, obstruct or nullify 
The most unselfish work I try to do, — 
Misunderstand and still refuse to view 

With favor anything with v/hich my name 
Has been connected, though not any blame 
Have I deserved, nor even sought my due? 

What I have done was not for praise of men. 

Then let me not be moved by taunt or jeer 
Or censure, if my actions now and then. 
My words or thoughts, expressed by tongue or pen, 
Someone offend. O, let me never fear 
If only right and just I in God's eyes appear I 



47 



TO PJ^UL K^UGER. 
Oct. 31, 1899. 

STERN Patriot, in whose hand the destiny 
Of thy brave people's hard-won freedom lies, 
Stand firm; the free with sympathizing eyes 
The whole world over now are watching thee. 
Be not dismayed; strike home for liberty; 

Drive back the fell invaders who but seek 
To spoil the succorless, oppress the weak. 
With cant of progress, prate of equity! 

The adventurer upon whose head the blame 

Shall rest for Transvaal's woes, whose base design 
Has dimmed his country's glory and to shame 
Betrayed her mighty power, his hated name 

In future years shall be accursed, but thine, 

E'en though thou fall, among the stars shall shine. 



48 



PER LJiCRlM^S. 

GREAT Architect and Ruler of this world, 
Aye, of the heavens and all their shining spheres, 
Thy glorious works we dimly see through tears. 
Presumptuous angels down from heaven hurled 
Confessed thy power as doomward still they whirled, 
So we before thy might resign our pride — 
Lay all our impious, rebel thoughts aside; 
Our crowns and armor doffed, our banners furled, 

We war no more for self but meekly bow 

And worship silently; the Heavens o'erhead. 

The wondrously created earth, the Now, 

The Past, the Future, living things and dead, 

Display thy wisdom, thy stupendous might 

Subdues our souls and tears bedim our sight. 



49 



TO CLIMTON SCOLLARD. 

BLITHE wanderer 'mongst the pleasant Hills of Song, 
Brave troubadour of sun and summer day, 
Nor haste nor sorrow overcasts thy lay; 
Thy lot hath been most pleasant, naught of wrong 
Or want or grief or hope deferred too long 

Hath wrung thy heart: no bird upon the bough 
A note more wholly care-free sings than thou, 
As far thou strayest from the madding throng. 

What if thy tuneful verses lack the deep 
Heart-moving sympathy of him who sings 
Of nature's sterner moods and human woe? 
I would not have thee otherwise; keep 
Thy sunlit face unclouded and thy wings 
. As free as Psyche's ov/n when springtime blossoms blow! 



50 



TO IVHITTIER. 

OF all the saintly calendar of men 
Revered and worshiped through the ages, none 
A holier life has lived or labor done 
Than thou: thine early consecrated pen 
Wrought mightily for freedom; later, when 

The cause thou strovest for so long was won, 
Thine old-time love of nature, sea and sun, 
And all that comes within the wondrous ken 

Of boyhood, reassumed its wonted reign; 
The fellow-feeling for the toiler's lot, 

The life of him who eats the bread he earns; 
The love of fireside friends that live again 
In poesy; nor was there lost one jot 

Of tolerance to link thy fame with Burns. 



51 



TO JOJiQUIN MILLER. 

GREY master, eagle spirit of the heights, 
We younger, humbler craftsmen offer thee 
Appreciation, praise and sympathy. 
Afar thou art above the petty spites, 
The feuds, the jealousies, the wanton slights. 
The myriad pigmy pin-thrusts that infest 
The lives of lesser singers: thou art blest 
At last with freedom large and all delights 

Of fame secure and imm.ortality 

Unquestioned; as an ancient Druid bard 
Thou sittest on thy mountain throne above 
The throng, and harp in hand of minstrelsy 
Discoursest, — not of heroes battle-scarred, 
But nature's beauties, simple faith and love. 



52 



TO JOHM B. TMBB, THE POET PRIEST. 

O GENTLE spirit wed to holiness 
And vowed eternally to brotherhood, 
How art thou moved by beauty and the good! 
How much of highest human happiness 
Has been thy portion ! Surely none the less 
Because in youth thy footsteps turned aside 
Into the calmer walks and shades that hide 
The quiet-loving soul from our world's storm and stress. 

Thy life of cloistered peace and piety, 
Thy sympathetic heart and poet's eye, 
Thine ear attuned to all the harmonies 
Of wood and field and sky, of land and sea, 
Much more avail to cheer and sanctify 
The common lot than all our pageantries. 



53 



M 



TO HER I LOVE. 

Y one sure anchor, holding safe to land 
This storm-tossed craft I call my soul, 
Though self-distrust in billows o'er me roll, — 
In every joy, in every grief, you stand 
Close by my side, my comrade, hand in hand. 

My best support when most support 1 need, 
My friend of friends, your love a bond indeed, 
Secure when other ties seem ropes of sand. 

I am not strong except as you are strong; 

Without your aid I falter in the strife; 

Without your counsel all my plans go wrong; 

The day without delight, the night time lone and long; 
Devoid of meaning, flat and stale my life 
Without your love and presence, dear, my wife! 



54 



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Grdfitville. Pd 
Sept— Oa 1985 






